Don't Wanna Dance
by DaGeekGoddesses
Summary: Shae, a competitive dancer, doesn't wanna dance, so her friends Kermit, Bambi, and Kris try to help her achieve her dreams. Kermit/Miss Piggy AU
1. Oscar

**A/N: Warning: this is a muppet fan fiction. even if it doesn't seem like one yet, it is. Just wait until chapter 4. This is Moonray. Read & Review! Moonray out!**

"Step leap, glide right, curve run! Straighten your legs! Good, front aerial! Fall into your finish. Ta-da! Uh... good! Now one more time from the top!" Great way to wake up, isn't it. Being yelled at by the _melodious _voice of my dance coach, or as she likes to be called, Mrs. Oscar Hammer (Does she even have her own identity? This isn't the 1800's, people! Women have names!). We (my fellow dancers and I) call her, Oscar. I think you can tell why.

So, you may be wondering what the hell I'm doing here at 7:30 in the morning. A_ Sunday_ morning, no less! Being yelled at by an old lady (O.K, she may be only 40, but she gives off the aura of being a much older, crankier woman). Let me tell you, I have no desire to be here. But does my opinion count? No, but my mother's does. My dream is to be a kick boxer. Well, that and to use that training to kick Oscar's Backside from here to Japan. But my mom's is, guess what? Dancing, uh duh! So, here I am, working my butt of when I should be sleeping in, for what, personal gain? You make me laugh. No, there's a HUGE audition in New York next week for a Julliard Summer workshop. The rules for this audition are simple; dance for the judges, don't swear at the judges, and don't cause physical harm to the judges, yourself, or the stage. That and if I get in, I will be miserable for the next 2 months, and If I don't get in, I'll be disowned. Fun, right!

My legs ache, yet I am forced to turn tour jete after tour jete, leap higher and faster than before, and front aerial until my back pleads for mercy. Oscar's face turns bright red from screaming at me, while the end of our session seemed to never come. Seriously, I saw her eyes turn to the clock every time she thought I wasn't looking. Not that I disagree with her, though. I mean, I hate her, she hates me, I hate dancing, dancing hates me. We all have a mutual relationship going on, not a good one, but hey, it volleys an even better reason for me to outright tell my mother that I don't wanna dance. Or, at least get her to give me private lessons with Ms. Kimbell, the nicest, most amazing dance teacher at our studio (though she likes to be called Latoya. Go figure). She, for one, doesn't hate me, and actually understands my desperate struggle to escape (she knows I hate this place). I mean, personally, I think she's a much better choreographer than Oscar, and gives back much more useful feedback. But do my opinions matter? Like I told you, the only ones that seem to matter are my mom's. But if it's for dancing, then who knows what she'll do.

The end of our lesson at last came, and believe me; neither of us could get out of there fast enough. As my mom came in to pay Oscar, I bolted out of the door, intent on getting out of there. Seeing a water fountain, I meandered over to there to drink my fill. The water surged into my stomach, cooling the burn in my throat and relieving my slight headache. I couldn't get enough of it, and not until I was feeling slightly sloshy did I stop. Satisfied, I stood up and turned around, then there knocking into Latoya. Stumbling, as she turned to face me, I realized I must look ridiculous, what with water dripping down my face and front. My cheeks burned red (Red heads are allegedly known for blushing) as I wiped of my face with my forearm. Grinning in an embarrassed way, I waved hi. "Hello Shae!" she beamed, "I haven't seen you in a while! How's it going?"

"OK, I guess."

"Oscar?" (She's in on the Oscar joke)

"Yeah, kinda. Well that and the Julliard audition."

"Nervous?"

"More like desperately trying to crawl out of the hole my mom has dug me into"

"Shae, if you don't like dancing, why don't you just tell your mother?"

"I actually like living in a house, and not on the streets in a cardboard box, thanks." She giggled. Latoya, I mean.

"Well, see you around!" She calls as she walks out the door, leaving me still damp and desperate to leave, but feeling slightly better. Once she was completely and utterly out of sight, I grudgingly trudged back through the door to Oscar's room, my mom beaming brighter than aluminum foil in the hot sun. This can't be good. "Shae!" she trilled, "Mrs. Hammer, or can I call you Ethster?" Oscar gave a quick nod, clutching her bag, ready to run. I stood up straight, prepared for the worst when I was suddenly caught off guard by surprise. Oscar actually has a name? What is this world coming to?

"It will be oh so wonderful, won't it Shae! Shae? SHAE!" my mother trilled. Well, trilled, then yelled.

"Wait what?" I asked.

"Ethster was just telling me about the new dance routine you will learn for Julliard. It will be oh so perfect, don't you think?"

A new dance routine? Shit, I barley know this one! What is going through their minds? Nothing? Well, I mean, that would explain it! But seriously, it's a freaking week away from Julliard. I can't perfect a routine in a week! I've been working on my current routine for a month at least, and based on Oscar's now-becoming permanent red face color, I am far from perfecting it. And, knowing it's for Julliard, it can't be easier. Seriously, this is not how I dreamed I'd spend this week. Not even in my nightmares.


	2. Bambi

**Enjoy, my peeps! 'Nuff said. Moonray out!**

Part 2 Bambi

My legs cheer as I walk in the front door, the tired sticks that they are. Kicking of my boots, I grab an ice pack and a bowl of ice cream from our fridge, what with I plop down onto the couch. The ache in my legs is muted one I start icing them, and the ice cream doesn't hurt. I fumble for the clicker, and to complete my vision of fantasy I just turn to whatever's on TLC, lay back, and relax. Though of course, right when I was getting comfortable, the phone rang. Irritated, I muted the TV and grabbed for the phone (it used to be in the kitchen, but knowing Bambi, who always calls when I'm in my happy place, moved it next to the couch). I didn't bother to check the caller ID, and answered in my "happy, sweet voice" I use with Bambi at times like this.

"What do you want Bambi?"

"Hey Shae!" she trilled in her all too happy voice.

"Mmph."

"So, how was it at Oscar's?" (She dances at Oscar's too).

"I think she may be permanently red now"

"Hmm, I thought if she ever changed color, it would be to green."

"Ha ha, very funny. Seriously, why did you call?"

"Are you busy today?"

"No, why do you ask?"

"My parents are on an overnight trip to Phoenix for their anniversary, and I need a place to stay until 8 pm tomorrow, so can I come over?"

"Bambi, where are you calling from?"

"Nowhere," She mumbled as I walked to my living room window.

"I can see you crouching underneath the window!"

"So is that a yes?"

"Just get inside!"

I unlocked the front door and seconds later, Bambi Hathaway walked in. It's kind of ironic that her name is Bambi, with those gigantic blue doe eyes of hers. She has long, blond, straight hair, is a few inches taller than me, and has that Californian sun-kissed tinge to her skin. Yeah, she's pretty much the stereotypical Santa Barbra girl. Though she doesn't overly flaunt it, so it doesn't bother me. Her house is on the next street down, but she practically lives here. Not kidding, after waving hi to me, she asked "What's for lunch?" walked into our kitchen, and started rummaging through the fridge. I ran to stick the phone back on its base (and collected my ice cream bowl and ice packs) then strolled nonchalantly back into the kitchen. As I walked in, I found Bambi eating half a cold turkey sandwich with orange juice. My turkey sandwich! That I was coming in to eat! Wow, so considerate.

I slid into the seat opposite her, watching enviously at my stolen turkey sandwich, so what do you think I did? I took a butter knife from out of silverware drawer, took the sandwich, cut off the bitten part, then ate it. The non-bitten part, I mean.

"Hey! I was eating that!" she bawled

"Well I was saving that to eat right now!"

"Well I got to it first!"

"Well it's my house!"

Pouting, she stood up and returned to the fridge, finally digging out the ravioli we had last night. She brought it to the table, and dug in. "You know," she mumbled, "I really do prefer Turkey."

When my mom came in around 20 minutes later, Bambi and I were finished with our lunch, and playing a game we created called "Chicken Dance." Derived from the original game "chicken," where you do embarrassing things off of a diving board, chicken dance is where you challenge your counterpart(s) to do an embarrassing (but still appropriate) dance in front of your house, in full view of the neighbors. The rules are simple; if you do the dance, you get to make up one for your partner. If you don't, you have to spin around in a circle, flapping your "wings" yelling chicken. See? Easy as pie, or as I should say, easy as chicken. Anyway, I just finished making up a dance for Bambi, which included jazz hands, crazy legs, and some Broadway showtune dancing, when my mom came back from our neighbor's house. She was just chatting to our next door neighbor, Mrs. Hatoyma. Mrs. Hatoyma has 3 kids, 2 of them little boys. It's a wonder how she gets any sleep. Well, Bambi had started to perform her dance, swaying back and forth, jazz hands in motion, when my mom reached our driveway. She said hello to Bambi then went back into our house. Like I said, Bambi is a staple in our house, just like baking soda. So, it wasn't a huge surprise to see her here. Frankly, I think my mom was more surprised by what we were doing than the fact that Bambi was here. As my Mom made her way back into the house, I turned back around just in time to see her finish the dance with a big jazz finish. Let me tell you, it took all my willpower just to not to fall over laughing. Yep, I'm just that good a choreographer.


	3. Lydia

Part 3 Lydia/ mom 

Bambi and I decided to stop after a neighbor yelled at us for making too much noise (I had brought out a boom box), so we scampered inside, instantly colliding with the couch (and sadly, my dog). I really don't know he thought of that, but having the brain of a dog, he decided to jump on top of us and "wash" our faces. Yes, I do love my dog, and all dogs for that matter. But when you get dog slobber up your nose, you have a momentary change of heart. I pushed him off of my lap, giving him a slap on the butt as he lumbered off (he now takes that slap to mean "go get food"). "Awwwwww!" Bambi whimpered, "Why did you do that to Pinocchio?" (Long story short; Bambi named him).

"Personally, I prefer to keep dog slobber out of my nose, thanks."

"I didn't get it up my nose."

"Well aren't you special!"

"Thanks for noticing!"

"I didn't mean it literally, Bambi!"

"Awwwwwwwww!"

"Just get over it!"

We pried ourselves off of the couch, Bambi toward the kitchen and I the bathroom. You know, I learned something very interesting today. Dog slobber is really hard to get out of your nose!

It took many tissues, much soap, and a whole lot of hard work, but I say, I now may finally have a slobber-free face! Content with my work, I cavorted out the bathroom and through the hall, stopping only to slide into the chair opposite Bambi. Now. She was eating our French fries. Letting out a sigh, I retrieved the ketchup from the fridge and dug in. I love fries. Too bad my mom chose right then to make a kitchen appearance. As predicted, she started yelling at us to "put that darn grease food away, do you even respect your body? Your body is your instrument, and if you ruin it, there goes your dancing career!" Yep, that's my mom. Lydia Holland. She whipped her long curly red hair around to face us, her steely brown eyes pinning us against the back of our chairs. My daring surged at that time, a stupid yet much needed question springing out of my mouth.

"Why are there fries, then, if you don't want us to eat em'?"

"Your brother bought them!"

"And you let him?"

"He's not an athlete like you are!"

"So you're saying he's lazy?"

"Well yes, but what I meant is that you have so much more reason for taking care of your body, and that you can't eat like your brother, or you'll become just like him!"

"Mom, I don't think Fries have the ability to change one's gender."

"Oh you know what I mean!"

Sulking, I wandered my way back over to the fridge, stuffing the package into a crack above some bread, not even trying or caring to uphold my fridge's organization. Then, making sure she could clearly see what I was doing, I grabbed an apple out of our gigantic drawer of fruit, took a bite, then made my way toward the family room. Bambi, who had escaped the family feud in the earlier stages, was taking refuge on a rotating ottoman, spinning around in circles. "Bambi." I inquired, "don't you think you're gonna' get kinda' dizzy doing that?"

"If I close my eyes while doing it, it helps me relax!" she countered.

"Really, cause' it looks like your face is starting to develop a greenish twinge."

"Oh, shut up!"

She put her feet to the floor to stop the spinning, her legs swaying like jello once she was to her feet. I stifled a giggle, mumbling "told ya." To keep Bambi upright, I grasped hold of her shoulders, holding on just long enough to stop her wobbling. "Thanks!" She acknowledged, raising her hand to her forehead for dramatic effect. "Stop being such a drama queen!" I squealed, playfully punching her in the arm. "Come on, let's go up to my room. I bought more pins for our voodoo dolls!"

You may be wondering about the voodoo dolls. I mean, who wouldn't, right? Well, one day Bambi and I were just roaming through the outdoor mall near our houses when we saw a sign in front of this therapist's office advertising custom voodoo dolls. Of course, we rushed right in and ordered two overstuffed dolls inscribed with, guess what? That's right, we put Oscar on them!

Currently, they take refuge in my room, for if my mother saw them, she'd go ballistic. But trust me; they were completely worth the $19.95 we paid for them. All my inner angst is let out via these dolls, and now, I'm calmer than ever!

We raced up to my room, both of us with the goal of getting the first pick of pins. Bambi shot through the doorway a millisecond before I, though I beat her to the dolls. Of course, we settled our disagreements using one of the best random pastime games ever; rock, paper, scissors. Bambi and I are rather competitive, so by the time we decided a winner, it was best 7 out of 10. I won. She grumbled, laying out our array of pins in an arc before us, the dolls in our laps. I went first for the picking of pins. I got 2 red, 1 yellow, 3 lime green, and 2 purple. Bambi chose 3 pink, 2 blue, and 4 indigo. As the winner of the pin choosing contest, I started out by poking the pin into the bottom of my doll's foot, Bambi following by sticking hers into it's (her doll's) inner arm. We continued on with this until we were out of pins, stuffing them carelessly yet quickly back into our box with the remainder of them. I pushed the box to the very back of my closet, closed the doors, and joined Bambi in her run downstairs for dinner.

We skidded into the kitchen just as mom turned her head toward the stair's general direction to yell at my brother. "Dave, get your butt down here if you want any dinner!" As expected, we heard one loud stomp, a door being slammed, followed by a series of foot falls on the stairs. Sadly, he actually decided to join us for dinner instead of eating cold pizza up in his room with his pet turtle, Steve. Bambi, like always, started silently chuckling when he walked into the room. Yeah, I see her point for laughing at him, but she's known him for 7 years, I mean come on! She really hasn't gotten used to his ugliness by now? He has dirty, mop blond hair sprouting in an unkempt manner from his head, nasty sideburns grown halfway to his chin. He has brown eyes the color of crap, and a beaklike nose that looks not unlike my math teacher's does. All this on a canvas of sun deprived, blue-ish white skin, and there you have it. My brother in a nutshell. Yeah, not something you want to look at while eating dinner. Or anytime, really.

I sat down on the opposite side of the table as him with my eyes staring straight and intently into my food. I was nauseated enough already with the stench of unwashed turtle emanating from him, moms noodle-free vegan lasagna not helping one bit. But what could I do? I was still hungry. I plugged my nose with my first two fingers and started to shovel down that disgusting slop. The trick worked well enough, for sooner than I knew it, the "lasagna" was gone. I cleared my plate and marched back to my room, Bambi following not shortly after. Side by side, we sat down on the floor with my many stuffed animals, Kermit the frog in my lap and Mr. Unicorn in hers. A sigh of relief escaped my lips as I thought "Wow, I am so glad I did my homework yesterday."


	4. Captain Kermit

Part 4 Captain Kermit

With my backpack slung across my shoulders, I took that all too familiar march through those all too familiar doors. The hallways emitted a strong stench of old pizza and sweat mixed with whatever the cafeteria was serving for lunch that day. I reached my locker, absentmindedly turning my combination into it. Once it was open I grabbed my stuff out of it and closed it, a pair of familiar voices behind me.

"Hey Shae!" the feminine one trilled.

"Hi!" the squeaky, awkward voice added. This one I could not tell if the speaker was male or female. Well, that was until I turned around funding myself nearly face to face with Bambi and my other friend, Captain Kermit. Ah yes, Kermit. You may be wondering about that. Can't blame you, though. Long story short, he is obsessed with the Muppets, and more specifically, Kermit the Frog. So, in all his obsession, he changed his name to Captain Kermit, and dyed his hair green. We just call him Kermit, though. I slammed my locker shut and took off for L.A, Bambi and Kermit appearing on either side of me. We all have 1st period together. Like always, a wake of empty space formed around us, our same judgmental peers averting themselves from us. Here is a time I could lie and say that it's because we are so super popular that people clear the way so we don't have to bump into anyone on our way to class. It may be my personal angst against popular people, or just 'cause I feel like it, but I don't feel like lying about that. Truthfully, it's Kermit. Yeah, he's a sweet person when you get to know him, but his appearance is a little offsetting. He's 5'7, has bright green hair, hazel eyes, and has an upturned nose set just so he takes great resemblance to these mischievous garden pixies that I used to read about as a kid. I keep on trying to get him to at least dress in normal colors (he has a very psychedelic sense in fashion) and to dye his hair a normal color, but look how well that turned out!

We turned one final corner and sauntered through the classroom door. As always, we were the first three in there, for all of our peers were aimlessly meandering around the halls, doing everything in their power to not be early for class. "Losers!" I muttered under my breath as I took a backward glance at them. "Some people can be so stupid all of the time!"

At last the bell for 1st period rang the usual old routine happening. The popular kids would form their giant cluster around some table, the teacher would yell at them, they'd give everyone the evil eye and sit down, then she'd yell at us again to listen to the morning announcements.

"Good morning Madison Pandas, and welcome to another fine morning! Remember, close your locker doors before going to class, because your things could get stolen and people can run into them and get hurt!"

The announcements continued like this for far too long, telling us to follow the dress code, to have more school spirit, and to remember that Friday is Panda day, so come to school dressed as a colorless freak with two black eyes. After what seemed like forever, the people reading the announcements shut up and finally we were left with peace. Well, with as much peace as this place can get. Like always, the populars regrouped around the same table and formed their 2nt daily clump of gossip and mindless communication. Like clockwork, Ms. Castro (our Teacher) yelled at them; they kept on talking; she yelled again; they gave her a snooty look, and continued talking. She then took a very large bag of trash out from under her desk, tied it tight, and chucked it at them.

"Which one of you is taking out the trash today?" She roared, making the score for today teacher 1, student's 0. As you can probably tell, I like Ms. Castro. She's a good teacher.

The rest of the day just seemed to slip away, each class just morphing into the next. My mind was racing, worrying all day about Julliard. If I should even audition, what'll I do if I get in, if I don't get in, and when will I get to kick box? At lunch I could barley lift food into my mouth I was so caught up in all of this. Apparently, I had looked depressed, because Kermit kept on giving me these weird, overly cheery smiles and oddly timed winks I guess in a way to cheer me up. Or for other reasons that he thinks I don't know about. But, I do. And I don't mind it too much, either. He's quirky, but cute.

Bambi stood at my side while I managed to yank the last of my stuff out of my locker. I slung my backpack over my shoulder and game my locker its final slam for the day. Together we strode out the door, more torture looming just ahead of us. My mom's car was parked just in front of the school in that area of the parking lot where the buses were supposed to park. But nobody ever really paid attention to that. We walked at the pace of a death march, not wanting to give her the excuse to drop us off with Oscar early. The car was in front of us sadly, before we knew it. I was reluctantly climbing into the back seat with Bambi in my wake. It was a quiet car ride home; neither Bambi, nor I, nor my mom uttered even a single word

But that silence gave me time to think: about Julliard, about dancing in general, and about my life in general. A sigh escaped my lips before I had even realized it would. But we were back home soon enough, giving me a sense of relief. For, with those few but heavenly minutes I had at home, I could spend them doing my favorite pastime. Napping.

Before I knew it, we were being rushed out the door and shoved into the car, my mother in such a frantic rush that my mom didn't even notice my handful of fries I raided the fridge of. Fries sooth my nerves, and my annoyance at her. So, it was a good trip there, all around. Bambi had the rest of them in her dance bag. Oh, this would torture her if she knew!


	5. Latoya

Part 5 Latoya

We quickly stuffed the French fries back in Bambi's bag as the looming outline of the dance studio showed up on the near Horizon. Uhggh, it gives me Goosebumps to have to even think about that place again. Our car pulled up into the nearest parking space we could find, and faster than I wanted to I was marching that familiar, well-trodden path toward the center of all evil. Hammer's school of Dance. See, even the name makes you shiver! Bambi was beside me in an instant, our hands grasped together as if she had been with me the whole time. She knew how much I resented being here, so together we would face Oscar. Though personally, I would rather face Latoya.

My inner most prayers were answered that day, for as we trudged our way into practice one key thing to the dark aura of Hammer studios was missing. Oscar. Bewilderment filled my mind and features, a puzzled look appearing on Bambi as well. We stayed that way for a while, caught up in the great disbelief of the beauty that now filled the atmosphere of the studio. After what seemed like forever, our faces broke their astonished expression as Bambi and I danced like idiots in the corner until the latter of people filed into class. For a second there, we were all caught up in celebration, until a soft yet commanding voice called out into the gaggle of us. "Class has started, I repeat, Class has started!" Disgruntled, we all circled around a sitting figure. Though, my smile caught up with me when I discovered who it was. Latoya stood up soon as everyone was quiet, a dry-erase marker in one hand and touching the mirror with the other. I could feel the group too, lighting up with excitement as this was taken notice of. Oscar NEVER lets us draw on the dance mirror. Our mouths remained open in awe as she wrote today's goals and warm up. On the board. With a marker. Oh, yeah! Take THAT one, Oscar! As a peculiar question popped into my head, it was answered almost on cue by none other than Skye Hart, Bottle Blond Bitch, kiss-up, and show off. Man, she irks me!

"Pardon my asking, but where is Mrs. Hammer?" she said all too politely (see, kiss up!)

Latoya answered back as seriously as she could. "Well, somehow Osc.., I mean Mrs. Hammer slipped on a patch of black ice and broke her inner forearm, and sprained her foot." Bambi and I started to airily chuckle at the thought.

"Oh, Oscar." Bambi snickered, "I guess the wrath of our _magical _voodoo dolls is finally paying off!"

"Yeah, I guess so." I mumbled. A long pause followed this thought before a light bulb of enlightenment suddenly hitting me. "Wait, Bambi! Maybe that's it!"

"You serious?"

"Why would I say that if I wasn't serious?"

"Well, that guy did look like Snape!"

"Yeah, I know. He was **so **ugly! I just about asked him if he used shampoo regularly!"

"Shae, back on topic!"

"Fine! Well personally, I think we should keep using the voodoo dolls. If Oscar isn't in this week, then she won't go to Julliard. And if she doesn't go to Julliard, Then Latoya goes. And if she goes, we can visit Calvin's Crazy Corndogs instead of that fish house place Oscar was planning on taking us to for the post- audition celebration. "

At this point, everyone around us was getting up and moving over to the Barre for our pre- practice stretches. Throughout the whole warm-up my mind was a blur of crazy philosophies and thoughts. "What if **we** caused it, what if she's hurt for life, what if we can control who our dance teacher is?" A maniacal grin slowly spread across my face. Apparently, I looked delirious. Bambi decided to alert me of this."Shae, don't do that!"

"What?" I answered in a weary voice.

"That weird smile you were making. You looked like, as a wise Englishman once said; Bloody hell, you'd have to be mental to do that!"

"Yeah, I know Einstein. I was only making that face because I had a very enlightening idea. If we continue to use the voodoo dolls, then Oscar will be out of the studio more, and unable to teach. Then we can be taught by Latoya, go to Calvin's crazy Corndogs, and I can get out of this hellhole faster than you can say kickboxing!"

"Shae, you're making that face again!"

"Oh, shut up!"

That practice, I pirouetted until my feet screamed for mercy, leaped higher and bigger than ever before. Though, I was not the only one doing so. Bambi was in her own personal bubble of concentration, beads of sweat collecting on her brow. I had never seen her this determined at, well, anything before. The whole class was like this. It was our way of saying, "We want Latoya to coach us, so we'll make ourselves perform better for her, so Oscar gets the boot." Yeah, our plan is fool-proof. Well, that is unless Skye ruins it. But we know how to take care of that problem. The voodoo dolls are proving themselves surprisingly useful.

"Well that was the most productive practice of the season!" Bambi said to me

"Duh!" I replied, "There was no Oscar. And no Oscar means happiness and rainbows for us!"

"Do you know what this means, Shae?"

"Yeah, we keep up with the voodoo doll practice and nothing will suck anymore!"

We then proceeded to dancing around like idiots chanting "No more Oscar! No more Oscar!" And let's just say that it was a good thing no one else was in the studio room, because they would have called us crazy. Couldn't blame 'em, though. We did look like idiots.

I lay in bed that night silently, staring aimlessly up at the ceiling, my mind a blur of thoughts and frogs. The looming dread of facing Oscar again gnawed at me, my mind endlessly thinking of what to do to the voodoo dolls next. I hugged my Kermit the frog doll close to my chest and buried my face in its shoulder. "I just wanna go to sleep!" I thought, my eyelids closing in attempt to shut out the noise. Thought they were successful on ridding my head of all useless Oscar information, that night I may possibly have had the most bizarre dream of my life.

It was a week into the future. I was in New York for the audition at Julliard, strolling nonchalantly past a Burger King when suddenly; Kermit (the 8th grader) appears on the roof of it. Like his usual adorable but dorky self, he waved hi and of course, I waved back. I wore a puzzled expression on my face, but I was still smiling. Yeah, I did wonder why Kermit was in New York, and for that matter, on a roof. But my bewilderment only grew as none other than King Kong began to crash through the skyline of New York City, advancing on the Burger King. Before I had time to yell out and warn Kermit, King Kong had grabbed him from behind, and with Kermit still in his hands, began to climb up the side of the Empire State Building. I moved as fast toward them as my legs could carry me, but all too late for me to save Kermit. Because of course, like a lot of my other dreams, my stuffed animal betrayed me. So a giant version of my Kermit the Frog doll comes bounding and leaping over the rubble of the city, and continued to partake in an epic battle with King Kong over Kermit (the 8th grader)

While I sat watching, useless as poison ivy. This 'epic battle' waged on for a minute longer, finally ending where Kermit the frog rode off into the sunset with Kermit (my Kermit!) on the back of a particularly majestic white unicorn. And I was left there, alone, cold, and covered in bits of buildings. A pout spread over my face, and as I looked forlornly and romantically into the sunset, I saw that same white unicorn galloping back toward me. Instantly, my back straightened automatically, my hands absentmindedly coming through my thick mane of curls and burger king, a smile appearing across my face. Kermit does that to me. My heart was a hummingbird threatening to fly out of my chest as the unicorn came closer and closer. Well, that was until I saw exactly who was on it. Dave, that annoying git of a brother I'm stuck with. "What are you doin' covered in burger king? Stand up and hop on! It doesn't smell too bad!"

No wonder I woke up screaming.


End file.
